Rosemary Run Box Set

by Kelly Utt

  “Indeed she was,” Detective Hemming said. “I thought I had quite a case on her, too. All circumstantial though. In retrospect, I should have been more careful. I was too eager to be an instrument of justice. My ego got in the way.” He turned towards Cate. “Mrs. Brady, I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “Thank you for saying that, Detective Hemming,” Cate replied. She turned to her husband. “You’re amongst friends here, Mick. These men will let you walk out the door when we’re done and disappear if that’s what you choose to do.”

  “If I’m going to keep you and the kids safe, that’s what I have to do,” Mick clarified. “I don’t have any choice in the matter. These are very bad guys. Their associates will know it was me and they will look for me. Hard. The only saving grace here is that no one outside of the present company knows you were here. You can go home and live your life without having to worry about them coming after you.” Cate felt like she’d been punched in the gut when she heard her husband refer to her life without him in it.

  “How did you get involved with these people?” Cate asked. “And how did you hide it from me? You must have been dealing with them for quite some time. Otherwise, things wouldn’t have reached the point where the only out was faking your own death.”

  Mick wiped beads of perspiration off his forehead as he spoke to his wife. He hadn’t wanted her to know his secrets. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. “It started not long after we moved back to Rosemary Run,” Mick explained. “In fact, it was why we moved back. Some guys from an international crime organization sought me out and strong-armed me. They knew I needed money, and they offered me a solution. I didn’t want to participate and I tried to avoid them, but once they locked on, they were like bulldogs. They told me they would hurt you and the kids if I didn’t cooperate. They wanted to funnel cash through my consulting business. They gave me a cut. But I swear, I didn’t have a choice. It was horrible being beholden to them.”

  “Pardon the interruption,” Detective Hemming said. “What is the name of this international crime organization?”

  “I’m sorry, Detective, but I can’t tell you that,” Mick said. “I can’t leave any trace that might lead back to Cate.” Mick could tell that Luke didn’t like that answer. “Do you have a family, Detective Hemming?” Mick asked. Luke nodded affirmatively. “Then I don’t need to explain my motivations to you. Please find another way. You have plenty of evidence on this floor with which to do so.”

  “Mick,” Cate said softly, reaching up and touching her husband for the first time since he had come back. “You changed your look.”

  Cate had always felt an affection for her husband’s head. She had thought there was something special about a strong man making his head vulnerable. Cate believed it an honor to be trusted with Mick’s physical person. She remembered the countless times Mick had laid his head in her lap while she gently stroked his hair. It cut her like a knife to see his head bald.

  Feeling Cate’s soft, familiar touch and hearing her comment made Mick emotional. “I didn’t want to tell you…” he said, hot tears collecting in his eyes.

  “Tell me what?” Cate asked. “I think we’ve reached the point of putting it all out on the table here, wouldn’t you say?” Seeming to sense what was coming, James stepped forward and put a hand on his sister’s shoulder.

  “Okay… I… There’s no easy way to say this...” Mick muttered. “I have stage four pancreatic cancer,” he continued slowly, trying not to crumble into a sobbing mess. “I’ve known since before we left Connecticut. I wanted to get you home to Rosemary Run where you would have family around. And it’s the reason I went along with the crime organization. They gave me money to pay for experimental cancer treatment. I even borrowed from my mom. I was willing to do anything to stay alive and to find a cure. Most people with my disease don’t last this long. When it became clear the treatment wasn’t working and I knew my time was coming to an end, I staged this scenario to make sure you and the kids were okay before I… Went away for good…” His voice trailed off.

  “Oh, Mick,” Cate said, wrapping her arms around her husband’s neck and placing one hand on the back of his bald head. Tears streamed down her face as it all began to make so much sense. Mick was loyal to a fault. Cate had always known Mick would do anything for her and the kids. Her deepest fear had been that her husband was hiding something from her. She should have realized he was doing so for all the right reasons.

  “I wanted the kids to, you know, remember me the way I was,” Mick continued, holding on tightly to his wife. “And you, too,” he said to Cate. “I’ve done my research and I’ve talked to palliative care doctors. The end stages of this disease are horrible. I’d rather we said goodbye now, before I become a shadow of my former self.”

  “So your bald head? And your weakness?” Cate asked, fighting to maintain her composure. She had noticed during the struggle with the businessman that Mick wasn’t nearly as strong as he used to be.

  “I tried a last-ditch effort with a new kind of chemo,” Mick said. “It isn’t working.”

  The pain of her husband’s situation made Cate feel like she had been turned inside out and all the raw, sensitive parts were exposed. She thought this might be worse than the death Mick had conjured up. She finally understood why he’d done it.

  “Your mom came to me about your debt to her,” Cate said. “And she told me she loaned you the money for the down payment on our mortgage. I didn’t understand…”

  “I know,” Mick replied. “I’ve been watching over the house for the past couple of weeks and I found out that Mom had hired somebody to break in and steal financial records, then make it look like it was a robbery.”

  “That was your mom?” Detective Hemming asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, it was,” Mick confirmed. “Grief makes people do strange things. Mom found some of my medical bills even though I thought I had gotten rid of them all. I approached her just the other day and explained everything. We came to an understanding and healed some old wounds.” He turned towards his wife and looked her in the eye. “Cate, she won’t give you any more trouble. She’s backing off on the debt. She’s paying off our house in full, anonymously. The deed will be in your name alone and you’ll have no worries. I’ve made arrangements for my life insurance to go to Nancy when I…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. “She’ll be repaid in full.”

  “I’m flabbergasted,” Cate said. “I didn’t know that woman had It in her. But I’m grateful she does.”

  “She’s sorry, Cate,” Mick affirmed. “She truly is. And that’s not all. She has offered to be with me. You know, at the end. She’s my mom. She was with me when I came into this world and I guess it’s only fitting that she be with me when I leave it.”

  There wasn’t a dry eye left in the room as the group of them felt the Brady family’s pain. It was heartbreaking. And they were out of time. Sirens began in the distance then grew louder. They all knew the place would soon be swarming with additional police officers.

  “To those of you who were never here,” Detective Hemming announced. “This is your cue to leave.” He didn’t make eye contact with James or Neil. He knew they wouldn’t breathe a word of what they had witnessed tonight. “As far as I’m concerned,” Luke continued. “Detective Fredericks and I were meeting here for a drink when we heard gunshots coming from the back room. We arrived to find an apparent shootout amongst warring members of a criminal gang. And that’s the end of the story. Mrs. Brady, get back to your home where you’ve been all evening with your brother, please.”

  Cate nodded her understanding.

  “And Mr. Brady,” Luke said, choking up as he addressed Mick. “Good luck to you, sir. Godspeed.”

  Cate and Mick knew it was time to say goodbye. For good. They both knew Mick would disappear for real as he journeyed to the place where he’d spend the remainder of his days. They turned and embraced each other one last time.

&
nbsp; “How will I know…?” Cate asked as she pressed her cheek tightly against her husband’s.

  “Mom will let you know.”

  “Can I contact you?” she asked.

  “It’s too risky. I won’t jeopardize your safety,” Mick said emphatically.

  Sirens continued to grow louder and Cate knew that this was the end. She placed her hands on the sides of her husband’s bald head and looked him in the eye. “Mick Brady, I have loved you every single day since I met you. You have given me more happiness in fifteen years than many people experience in an entire lifetime. You’ve been the best father to our kids. You will live on in the three of them. I’ll see to that. Thank you for the life we shared.”

  “The feeling is mutual, my dear Cate,” Mick replied, sobbing with big heaves now. “You are my entire life. You’ve made it worth living.”

  “Oh, Mick,” Cate sputtered.

  Then Mick Brady kissed his wife on the lips softly. He turned and walked out the back door, making one final comment to Detective Fredericks as he passed by. “Neil,” Mick said with the weight of life itself in his voice. “You take good care of her.”

  THE END.

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  A note from Author Kelly Utt

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  (Not yet, anyway.)

  But I do have something much more effective than that, and it’s something that those publishers would kill to get their hands on.

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  Prologue

  One rainy September afternoon as Bea Hughes sat painting in her backyard art studio, the telephone rang. Its loud rattle made Bea startle. Hardly anyone called on the landline anymore. Bea knew that her elderly mother, Lana Denton, was seated near the phone in the living room reading the daily newspaper. Her son, Max, was somewhere in the house, probably playing a video game or fiddling with his comic book collection. Since Bea was covered in acrylics and couldn’t imagine who would call, she paused, hoping someone else would pick up the phone so she didn’t have to.

  When the ringing continued, Bea lurched for the receiver, accidentally knocking over her easel and splattering wet blues and greens all over her sandals. Exasperated, she feigned her nicest voice and said hello. She was, unfortunately, well-versed in the art of faking enthusiasm.

  Bea couldn’t be sure what she’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t what she heard in response to her simple greeting. A robotic voice on the other end called Bea by her full name, Beatrice Elisabeth Hughes, then said the words which for years had haunted her nightmares. Words that would threaten to destroy Bea’s family. Words that would seep angrily into her body and chill her down to the very bone.

  “I know what you’ve done.”

  Bea’s heart raced as she nervously twisted the coiled, black telephone cord around her fingertip. She felt like a child in trouble rather than an intelligent, capable woman in her thirties. She didn’t dare say another word. What could she say?

  Lowering the receiver under her chin and tilting her head over to secure it against her shoulder, Bea stepped towards the window and pulled back the floral-print curtains to look outside. She half-expected to see someone there, ready to forcibly take her away from her small-town life. If she was being honest with herself, she had half-expected that to happen for years. But no one appeared to be out there, save for Marmalade, the Hughes family’s orange tabby cat who sat cursing the rain while huddled under a patio lounger.

  Shaken but determined, Bea stood up as straight as she could and cleared her throat. She told herself she’d try to handle this head on. Even though she didn’t feel like a capable adult, she willed herself to act as if she was one. Using a wrist, she brushed a few disobedient strands of dark, silky hair out of her eyes, then opened her mouth to speak.

  Before she could say anything, she heard a faint clicking sound on the line.

  “Are you still there?” Bea asked, hesitantly.

  “Yes,” the mechanical voice replied. “I said I know what you’ve done.”

  A louder click this time and the line went dead, blaring a forceful tone that could be heard even without holding an ear to the receiver.

  Bea’s heart nearly burst out of her chest as the realization settled over her. Not only had she been discovered by an unknown mystery caller, but someone inside her own home had picked up the phone. They had been listening in on the line.

  1

  What next? Bea thought as the telephone dangled in her outstretched hand, still sounding its incessant warning. A vintage clock sitting on a nearby project table ticked urgently, forcing its way into Bea’s awareness and competing to be heard over the phone. Time was running out.

  Back in the early days after the incident, Bea’s fear of being caught had nearly consumed her. Max was a young boy then, barely in preschool. Bea had known she must hold it together. For Max. Her boy needed her desperately.

  Bea’s husband was a nice man and a cheerful father, but John Hughes didn’t have what it takes to properly raise a child on his own. Besides, life in the public eye would have prevented him from putting the necessary time into child rearing. It was the exception rather than the rule for John to come home at a reasonable time in the evening. If Bea had been taken away, Max would have, no doubt, been raised by a nanny. The thought still made Bea shudder.

  Perhaps it all would have been easier to take if the events leading up to the incident had been less dramatic. Bea knew she shouldn’t have been there that night, especially since Max had been with her, his trusting eyes looking on as he leaned his little head on the side of his car seat. Even now, Bea could remember the scene as if it were right in front of her. She could feel the fog and the cool, damp air. She could smell the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she had hastily thrown together in case Max grew hungry, waiting in a brown paper bag within the console of her minivan. She could hear the chorus of bullfrogs as they did their best to ratchet up the volume on an already too-intense night.

  The incident had been ten years prior. Bea should have tried harder to forget.

  Standing still like a statue in her studio, she remained frozen in place. Her athletic legs felt useless and full of concrete. Her skin seemed taught as a turtle’s shell, rigid and immovable. Mustering every ounce of her energy, she hung up the phone with a clank, then looked out the window again, expecting to see someone there this time.

  Get it together, she told herself. She listened for signs of movement, but heard nothing except the gently falling rain.

  Out of nowhere came a rapid series of knocks on the door. Bea’s body grew even more rigid as her panic shifted into overdrive. She was certain this was it. The end. The caller who knew what she had done was out there. They had to be. Who else?

  Feeling like a caged animal and suddenly wanting to flee, Bea’s muscles kicked into gear. She paced back-and-forth in the small room. Her mind tumbled as she frantically searched for an escape route. Only there wasn’t one. The studio had a single door and window, and both faced forward into the backyard towards the house. There
was nowhere to run. Her only option might have been to remain perfectly still and quiet until the person who had knocked went away. For a moment, that’s what Bea thought she would do. Like an ostrich with its head in the sand, she would hide and pretend this wasn’t happening.

  Another series of knocks came, louder this time. Bea’s visitor was growing impatient.

  Nauseous now and beginning to perspire, Bea picked up a handful of her largest paintbrushes and gripped them together like a knife. If she had to put up a fight, she reasoned, the paintbrushes were the only objects available which might assist her in defending herself. Bea thought about how she would go for the eyes right away. No point in waiting. If it meant her or them, Bea would give it all she had. She owed that much to Max. Even if not to John.

  Growing furious and fueled by an instinct for self-preservation, Bea steeled herself. Whatever awaited her, she would face it right here and now. She had used violence once before and, in this moment, she realized she’d do it again if she had to.

  Quickly, she flipped open the lock and pulled back the door, holding the makeshift knife high above her head.

  2

  “Bumble?” her sisters said in unison as they looked at Bea in disbelief. Bumble Bea had been an unfortunate childhood nickname her twin sisters refused to let go of.

  Ruth took the lead. She always did.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Natalie echoed. “You look like you’re ready to murder someone. In some kind of weird paint rage.”

  “Like Van Gogh,” Ruth said in a mocking tone, finishing her twin sister’s thought. “Bumble Bea, are you going to cut off an ear?”